


We can rebuild this.

by narwhals_and_towers



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Eating Disorders, F/M, Fluff, Hugs, Irondad, Nightmares, PTSD, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Trans Peter, Trans Peter Parker, Transphobia, Tut tut, author is actually trans, cuteness, ftm peter, my adorable little bean, peter doesn't bind safely, playful father and son, post homehoming, pre endgame and infinity war becauise that? that was m e a n, spiderson, starts super angsty but gets pretty fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 16:24:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 11,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18705982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narwhals_and_towers/pseuds/narwhals_and_towers
Summary: When Peter gets kicked out of home yet again, someone is there for him. But it's not who he's expected.





	1. Peter needed a hug

**Author's Note:**

> Just me playing around with Irondad/spiderson 
> 
> Peter's P.O.V.

Peter needed a lot of things. 

 

A shower was one of them.

A break from binding was really one of them.

And a hug was really, really one of them.

The boy was resting on a rooftop somewhere downtown, he wasn't quite sure where. He leant defeatedly against a filthy brick wall, his eyes half closed, his breathing strained. His ribs were aching and his mind was spinning with thoughts of the night before.

His parents had never accepted him. They never would have. But aunt may had always been there for him. She'd payed for his binders and packers. Respected his name and pronouns. Taken him to doctors even when she could barely afford it so he could get testosterone. She'd been everything he could have ever asked for, an ally he'd always known he could trust. And all of a sudden that perfect aunt was gone. 

And all it took was one mention of top surgery.

He didn't understand it. If testosterone was fine, why the fuck did she have to scream his deadname at the door as she slammed it on him when he asked her if he could get it in the future? Why would she chuck all his male clothes and binders and boxers and EVERYTHING into a duffel bag and tell him "she" was so much easier to look after than he was. Why did she chuck in his testosterone if she didn't seem to want him to be happy. Why did she force him to spend nights on the rooftops from an 11pm curfew. Why was he sitting on a rooftop in the middle of the night with nothing but sweaty clothes he couldn't bare to change out of and a soaked bag of clothes he couldn't stand to look at because they all just reminded of the aunt he'd gone from loving to losing in only 24 hours.   
His eyes were sliding closed, and he let them. A tear fell to the ground as his eyes shut.

The next thing he knew was pain. He winced his eyes open, as much as possible, in his back, his chest, his stomach, everywhere. His mind felt light and bleary. 

"Karen", he wimpered. "Help."

Dark.

A brush of air against his face.

Words he couldn't make out.

A blurry "shit, kid."

Arms around him.

Getting lifted into the air.

Then more dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments! You guys are too nice! I hope I don't disappoint anyone with this chapter.
> 
> Tony's P.O.V

Tony was awoken at three am by FRIDAY.

FRIDAY sounded urgent, or at least as urgent as an AI could sound. 

"Sir, Peter Parker is in danger."

He rolled over onto his left, nestling down back under the covers. It wasn't unusual for the boy to be in danger. All it took was for him to say 'help' for Karen to alert FRIDAY. Help could mean anything from "Oh fuck a spider, help!" to "Help! I'm about to be murdered."

"What's the problem, FRIDAY." He groaned. He really did start to get sick of always being informed whenever the spider boy was in any sort of unideal situation.

"Sir, Peter's heart rate has dropped dramatically and his temperature is very high. He has two broken ribs and is barely breathing. I recommend you send help."

Tony jumped up, and flung himself out of bed. 

"Oh fuck." He murmured. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh holy shit fuck." 

Broken ribs. Barely breathing. Low heart rate. High temperature. 

Broken ribs.

Barely breathing.

Low heart rate.

High temperature.

Shit.

Within seconds he was in the suit, flying through the air. 

"FRIDAY, locate Peter Parker."

For once air travel seemed to take far too long. He dodged building as fast as he could. The kid was apparently somewhere downtown, on a rooftop. Data suggested he'd been there for 2 and a half days. Two and a half days while an oblivious tony had worked away in the lab, indulged in full meals, laughed, smile, with no idea his kid was slowly dying downtown.

'No. Not my kid.' He thought. 'Just a boy who I work with. Just another avenger. We live, we die, that’s life.'

But it wasn't true.

Just like how Nat was like his sister, the boy was like a son to him. He knew he wasn't fit to be a father. He could never raise Peter without becoming like his own father.

And then FRIDAY located him.

He was sitting in a heap against a wall, not moving at all.

"No…" He whispered, pulling up to a stop in front of the heap.

"Oh shit, kid. Oh no please, no…"

Heart racing, the world frozen, he lifted him up into his arms and pulled off his mask. That was Peter alright. His messy eyes, his little face, still young. Baby faced and innocent. His eyes were closed, his mouth half open. 

"FRIDAY," he choked, "A heartbeat?"

"Heartbeat detected." She said. 

"Thank fuck." Tony whispered. "Hold on in there kiddo. It's gonna be okay. You just hold on."

The boy in his arms, he headed back to stark tower, a lump in his throat and more fear in his heart that he would have liked to admit. 

"It's gonna be okay kid. Hold on."


	3. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for abuse and transphobia in this chapter.
> 
> Peter's P.O.V.

Peter came to on a hospital table, blinking under the bright lights. There was a strong pain in his chest, but breathing came easily. His back ached and his mouth and eyes were dry. He could just make out the feeling of bandages on his chest. An attempt to lift his head failed. Dropping it back, he closed his eyes.

He sunk into the dream for the first time in years. 

A slap against his cheek and screams he couldn't make out over his own. His heart was pumping as a room spun in and out of focus.

"WE GAVE YOU SO MUCH WHEN YOU GAVE US NOTHING, AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY US?" 

Another blow: a kick to the side of his leg this time.

"You were so beautiful, you ungracious twat."

A plate zoomed past his face, shattering on the wall behind him. 

"I'm sorry-"

"IF YOU WERE SORRY YOU WOULDN'T HAVE DONE IT."

A hand grabbed the top of his head by his hair, short and choppy.

The room spinned again. A small hand placed a pair of scissors on a small table beside his bed. The door swung open and he fell through the floor.

He was standing outside in the cold. Just a little kid, lost in the world. The screams of his parents were still echoing through his ears. He was too young, to small, to scared. Tears were falling. A woman asked him where his parents were, and he faltered. 

"I don't care. I don’t want them."

"That can't be true."

The world was fading, as her voice sounded bubbly. He felt like he was underwater. He couldn't breathe; the world looked blurry.

"Either way, they don't want me."

Peter snatched his eyes open, sitting up before he remembered about his ribs. He exclaimed out in pain as it seared up his ribs. He fell back into the bed shivering, his skin thickly drenched with cold sweat. He wanted to thrash around, to get up, to run, to get away from the dream. But the ache remained in his ribs. Instead, he tried to use his old therapist's favourite technique: Find one thing he could taste. Breathe. Two things he could smell. Breathe. Three things he could smell. Breathe. Four things he could hear. Breathe. Five things he could see.

All he could taste was metal. His mouth was so dry his tongue seemed to stick to it's roof. He breathed in deeply. It smelt like sanitizer and antiseptic. Slowly, he focused on working his way through his senses, bringing him back to the present, diverting his attention from the dream. When he got to the fifth one, he wrenched his eyes open. The room was palely lit. Still, his eyes shied away from the lights for a minute as they adjusted. The roof was pale blue, as were the walls. He noticed, to his delight, that they were all covered in tiny little star stickers, arranged into constellations. A deep red quilt covered him up to below his arms. He was dressed in pyjamas of some sort. The room seemed pretty empty. His left arm was sitting out on top of the covers. His breath caught when he saw a needle sticking into it. A drip. 

'Breathe.' He thought. It was gonna be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments!! :)


	4. Stupid kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short update! Thanks for reading and being awesome!
> 
> Tony's P.O.V.

After he was certain peter was going to be okay, Tony settled down to researching. For thirty hours, he did nothing but research. He didn't sleep. He only ate when pepper brought him food and practically forced it down his throat.  
He knew something must have caused the broken rib. He hadn't expected them to be stripping peter down to get to his ribs and find him wearing a sports bra. Or at least what looked like a sports bra. He looked up Peter's records, and founds he had, indeed, been born under another name. He's been kicked out of home when he was pretty young, then moved in with his aunt. She'd done everything right: Gotten him therapy, filed a legal name change, which went through when he was ten, he'd started on hormone blockers at 13, then testosterone at 14. 

He spent hours upon hours google binding. It was a lot to handle. He hated things he didn't understand. So till he understood it, he googled. He looked up binders, what they were for, how dangerous they were, how long to wear them for, all sorts of things. You weren't meant to bind for more than 8 hours at a time. By the sound of it, the kid had been doing it for 72 hours by the time he was found. You also weren't meant to exercise in them. He thought back to every time he'd seen the spider boy in action, swinging through the city, always flat. 

He shook his head and buried it into his hands. 

"Stupid kid." He muttered. "Why the fu-"

"Mr Stark," FRIDAY's voice echoed through the room, "Peter Parker has woken up."


	5. A visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another trigger warning for transphobia and abuse, sorry!
> 
> Peter's P.O.V.

The door swung open with a creak. Peter started. He hadn't been expecting a visitor. 

"Kid."

He turned his head slowly to the right.

"Mr Stark! I'm so sorry I don't know what happened it was all so quick help me. I didn't mean for it to happen I swear I was just trying to take a breather and suddenly everything was hurting and I didn't know what was going on and now I'm here and I don’t know where I am or what's wrong with me I just-

"Kid." 

Peter stopped.

"It's okay."

And suddenly, it almost was okay. Because he just sounded so calm, so honest. And it was a voice he knew, a voice that hadn't yelled at him or thrown things at him. 

"Do you wanna tell me what happened."

"Aunt May, she- she- no. No. I don’t." 

For a second, Mr Stark didn't speak. 

He wandered over to a chair he hadn't even noticed in the corner of the room. The silence didn't seem to hang in the air. Instead, it settled down like a blanket. If he wasn't ready to talk, he didn't have to.

After a few minutes, The man cleared his throat.

"If you think you're feeling okay, I wanted to talk to you."

He nodded. Anything to help him get his focus away from Aunt May.

"You were out on that rooftop for two and a half days. You were out for an additional two days after that. When I found you, you had two broken ribs. You were dehydrated and, by the look of things, you hadn't eaten for about four days." He holds up a black piece of fabric. After a second, it hit Peter what it was.

"In addition, I want to discuss this."

Oh shit. It only took a second for him to be back as an 8 year old, standing in the same spinning room as the one from his dream.

"We need to discuss Matilda's condition."

"It's not a condition! My name isn't Matilda!"

Another hit.

"Kid! Kid, can you hear me?" 

The boy jerked back to reality. He was shaking again, his breath shortening by the second.

"It's alright, kid. Just listen to me. Breathe."

He knew. Mr Stark knew. Iron man knew he was trans. 

And yet he didn't seem to hate him. 

"Please don't hurt me. Or take it away. Or anything."

Stark actually chuckled. Peter eyed him, confused.

"I'm not taking it away from you, kid. I just wanna talk about binding while spider-manning."

"What about it?"

Peter's heart was sinking. He knew it was dangerous to swing around the city in a binder. He wasn't meant to bind while exercising because of how hard it made it to breathe. But he couldn't imagine not being able to.

"I can't just… not bind. I-I have to. Otherwise it- I get dysphoric."

"I'm not suggesting that. Look, let's talk about this in the morning, kid. You need to get some rest. This isn't something to decide on without much thought."

Peter's mind wandered back to sleeping, back to dreaming.

"I can't sleep."

The older man surveyed him.

"Why not? Is it insomnia? I can have someone get you some melatonin, if that could help."

He shook his head. 

"Just nightmares. Nothing worth worrying about. Thanks though."

Stark sighed and put his head in his hands.

"I used to get them too. It helps to talk, if you want."

Peter did want. Very much. But he knew if he opened his mouth, he wouldn't be able to close it. Words would flow that he wasn't ready to face himself yet, let alone ready to share with none other than iron man 

"I'll be alright."

The guy gave him a watery smile. With that, he stood up and left the room, in a formal manner. He didn't even say goodbye.


	6. Goodnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another short update. Thank you so much for the comments and kudos they make me so happy sksk 
> 
> Tony's P.O.V.

Tony pulled the door closed, then turned back.

"Goodnight, Peter." he whispered, as it clicked shut. "Sleep well."

He trudged back to his room, smiling a little at the knowledge that the spider kid going to live. In his heart, he hated to see him so small and so hurt. He hated knowing that his aunt had raised a gorgeous boy then turned him to the streets. He hated how the kid wouldn't trust him enough to tell him what had happened. 

Of course, he had no reason to trust him. He was Tony, the man who left him alone on the brink of death for days on end. Who didn't think to install anything into the damn suit that would just let him know if his kid was gonna die. He was Tony, that man who wouldn't trust himself to have kids of his own. The man who'd broken Pepper's heart with his inability to trust himself. He wasn't a father figure to the boy. He never would be. He just had to get through a few weeks as a mentor. 

Peter just needed a little time to heal, then Tony could find him a new place to live. Find some parents who'd love him like his aunt and his mum never had.

But still he smiled. Because the kid was alive. Because of how his face had lit up when he'd said he was there for him. Because the boy was just a child who didn't deserve what he'd had, and for once Tony felt like he had a chance to give him everything he deserved. Because for once he had the opportunity to do something right for someone. To make someone happy.

And he wasn't gonna screw it up. 

No way.


	7. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't exactly my best chapter sorry. also I know Bruce is meant to be off in the middle of nowhere but fuck cannon. 
> 
> Peter's P.O.V.

The next time the door swung open, he knew it wasn't going to be Mr Stark, from the second the visitor knocked. He hadn't slept a wink, too scared to descend back into the nightmares awaiting him. He hadn't had nightmares like that in years. They brought back memories of being just an eight year old boy, waking up in cold sweats every night. It had taken years of therapy for them to stop completely: even months later had found them crawling back into unsuspecting dreams. 

"Come in," he grunted, his throat dry, turning his head to see who entered.

"Good morning. So you're the spider kid," a man said, in a wheezy sort of voice. He was pretty short, yet buff. His eyes smiled at him, cancelling out his thin mouth. 

"Uh, yeah." 

No 'Spider-man.' No 'Peter Parker.' Just 'Spider kid.' Was this who he was to everyone? Why was he always the kid. Why did being 15 leave him as this tiny creature the Avengers could play with and manipulate. He knew he recognised the guy, but what from kept slipping away from him.

"Do I know you?"

The man laughed to himself. 

"Nah, I guess not. I'm just a doctor to you. Tony was gonna put you into a hospital, but he couldn't bear to leave you there. You might know me though: I'm Bruce. Banner. "

"Bruce Banner? Like, THE Bruce Banner? As in the hulk?"

Banner sighed. 

"I'm Bruce. The hulk is the hulk. I'm not him and he's not me."

Oops. Bad question. The hulk was clearly a bit of a sore point. 

"Then sir- If you're the hulk- I mean Bruce Banner, and Mr Stark is here then- then where am I?"

He chuckled again, lowering himself into the chair Tony Stark had vacated just a few hours again.

"Kid. I would have hoped you'd have figured that out already."

And then it hit him.

He was at the Avengers compound.

He, Peter Parker, was lying in a bed at the Avengers compound. In his own room. That was obvious: The walls, the colours, the tiny little stars almost like the ones he had back home.

Words seemed to escape him. He'd been to the compound once before, when Mr Stark had asked him to be an Avenger, but he'd never imagined that the man would go to the effort to actually make him his own room. It was lacking in furniture, and not lacking in hospital equipment, but he didn't doubt it for a second.

"No way."

A smile twinged on the guy's lips.

"Way." He said. "Now get some sleep kid. You'll need it before your talk with Tony in the morning."

Peter didn't even think about how much the thought of sleep or the prospect of a meeting with Tony Stark scared him. For the first time in weeks he felt something warm and soft rising up in his chest. A pure calm happiness he'd almost forgotten existed. 

Because Mr Stark had found him.

Mr Stark had found him and taken him back to his home.


	8. A proposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: EATING DISORDERED THOUGHTS/BEHAVIORS.
> 
> If you think this could be triggering to you DON'T READ THIS CHAPTER PLEASE I really don't want to trigger anyone. I can put a brief summary of the chapter in notes at the end if anyone wants so if you don't want to read this (and if this is a trigger for you don't read the chapter) comment telling me and I'll come up with something. 
> 
> Also I'm trying to write longer chapters, but they'll also take longer to write, sorry. 
> 
> Peter's P.O.V.

Peter didn't have any nightmares that night. He didn't even dream. He could have slept forever, safely at home for once. The sunlight began to crawl into a small window, seeping around and filling his room with golden light that shone off the assorted pieces of hospital equipment in the room. They looked messy and out of place, haphazardly collected in a teenager's bedroom. The boy was still resting calmly on his back, thoughts swept aside by a real night's sleep, when his door was nudged open.

The creaking weeded its way into Peter's mind, bringing him back to the morning. Blinded by the light, he squinted at the door. There was no mistaking the silhouette on the frame.

"Mr Stark?" He exclaimed. "I- I wasn't expecting you so early!"

The man laughed and slid into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Kid, its 11:36am precisely. I didn't wanna put this off much longer. And besides, I thought you might be interested in some real food."

His heart sank. Mr Stark wanted to get the meeting over and done with. It was so obvious. A man like him didn't have time to deal with a teenage boy with broken ribs. He hadn't taken him back to the compound to have a kid running around it when things got quiet. He'd saved him because he needed spider man. And it looked bad when his avengers died on rooftops. How long he was gonna be given to get out of there, Peter wasn't sure. He did know, however, that he had nowhere to go. No parents. And this time, no aunt. He was alone in the world. 

"So what do you want? Whatever you want, we'll have it: pancakes, waffles, toast, cereal, you name it, and you get it. Do you like orange juice?"

Mr Stark's voice cut through his thoughts. He looked up at him, confused.

"What?"

"Breakfast. You've got to eat something. Bruce took out your drip this morning. You're not here to starve to death."

He turned his head down to is left arm. The drip was gone. He took a second to flex and bend his arm again, making the most of the newfound mobility.

"I'm not all that hungry." He lied. "A glass of water would be amazing though."

Mr Stark sighed, lowering himself down into the chair and surveyed him. 

"I'll take that as a cereal, because there's no way you aren't hungry. In case you'd forgotten, you haven't eaten in about a week. I'll get that sent up here, and then we can talk. FRIDAY, did you get that?"

The AI's voice came as a shock. He was used to Karen talking to him at random intervals and listening to him. FRIDAY was a whole new story. She was everywhere in the building. Everything he said, she heard and recorded. As much as he trusted Mr Stark, the whole concept of being constantly monitored scared him shitless. 

"Some corn flakes and water will be brought right up." 

"Sir really, you don't have to-"

The man raised his palm like a stop sign, halting the boy in his tracks. He felt eyes digging deep into his soul.

"I can't not feed you, and you can't not eat. My house, my rules."

Peter exhaled, leaning back into his bed. He didn't know where to source his appetite. He felt rude refusing food, as a guest, but he just couldn't stand the idea of eating. He knew he had to eat, but that didn't mean he wanted to.

"Fine." He said. Questions swam in his mind, the one's he hadn't asked Banner the night prior. He'd felt like they were special ones, reserved for Mr Stark and only him. 

What did he want to talk to him about?

It was barely a question: Either his gender or sending him away; possibly both. He knew Mr Stark wasn't the kind of guy who could just keep a kid around. He hadn't hesitated in the past to make public announcements about how much he loved children, but he'd never have one of his own. Nat had mentioned in the past that his father hadn't been the best man, but that was all he knew of why. And he wasn't exactly easy to accommodate. His parents and aunt had made it perfectly clear: trans kids were massive pains in the ass. He was expensive. Demanding and whiney, never appreciated how far he'd come, just moaning about how far he had yet to go. 

Why was he there?

Yeah, he was sick, but how come Mr Stark had stepped in? And why take him back to the compound, instead of just chucking him into a hospital. He was just another thing for Mr Stark to think about. And he had to be a pretty busy guy. He was a globally recognised superhero, not the sort of guy who had time to treat boys with broken ribs in his spare time.

Did he wanna stop him from binding? 

The stuff he'd said in his previous visit had made it sound like he didn't plan on it, but what other choice did he have? Binding in his suit was awful for him. Every time he did a mission, he would return to aching ribs and a stiff back. He'd nearly blacked out one time too many while swinging through the city. And if he did faint one day? What came next? He didn't know what sort of safety nets were installed in his suit, but he doubted there was an emergency, self-activating parachute. It wasn't impossible, but very unlikely.

Had he stalked him online, finding out every tiny detail about his life and his transition? His deadname? His Aunt adopting him? Maybe health records of his therapy sessions?

Probably. He'd looked up binding for hours. He obviously wanted every little detail of his miserable little life. But why would he care?

What did he want with him? 

What was even the point of paying to keep such a nightmare. There had to be more than just saving his life. A purpose for him, maybe. Perhaps a mission? Maybe Aunt May had hired him to try out some things on him to fix him. Shit. May.

Had he talked to May?

His heart sunk. What if he had? May would tell him everything. She'd scream, she'd tell him to throw him back onto the streets where a slob like that belonged, to learn to appreciate what she'd done for such an ungracious kid. She'd saved him years back, done everything for her, and then he'd gonna and stabbed her, hurt her, betrayed her. For Stark to save him was for Stark to make her mistake. His parents had done the right thing, tossing a child out to die in the cold, all alone. 

So when did he have to leave? That day? In a few days? Weeks? Who knew. Too soon.

And when he did leave? Where did he go?

Without May or Tony, he had no one.

"Tony?"

He looked up. 

"Mr Stark? What is it?"

He sighed a little, sounding almost relieved.

"You zoned out on me. Your breakfast has arrived, so if you want to get started on that, I have a proposition for you."

He gestured to a bowl of cornflakes on the bedside table, beside a glass of water and a small jug of milk. Peter pushed himself up his pillows till he was in an almost seated position, and grabbed the bowl, absent mindedly swirling it around with the spoon. A preposition. He had no idea what that meant. It certainly didn't sound like he was getting kicked out. But what else could he have to say?

"What do you mean?"

"The cereal is to eat, not to entertain yourself." Stark said disapprovingly. 

He needed to eat. That was the point of food. Survival. After pouring over the milk, he forced down a spoonful. If he was strong enough to save the world, he was definitely strong enough to eat a bowl of cereal. 

The older man smiled a little as Peter shovelled down another spoonful. 

"That's the way." He uttered softly. "Kid, I've been thinking."

Fuck. Preposition time.

He swallowed, and started again.

"I've been thinking. You can't bind in that suit if yours, but I get it. You can't not bind. So- so I was thinking, I don't know if it's possible- And- And you'd have to do it privately because it’s a bit- it's illegal to do it before your 18 but…" He man took a deep breathe, and looked at Peter.

"I was thinking of seeing if you could get top surgery. Soon."

He froze. 

His heart stopped.

Was the world still spinning?

He wasn't quite sure.

But his mind certainly was.

Top surgery.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, gawking at the man like a goldfish. He'd thought top surgery wasn't even an option for years. He'd need to be 18, obviously, moved out, working.

And now he was getting offered it. 

His head was spinning. 

Top surgery.

And then he remembered Aunt May.

He was back in the kitchen again, just a kid asking an honest question.

"I was wondering-" He muttered "-if you'd let me get it in the future."

A plate fell to the ground.

He was falling through the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so far this whole thing has been pretty slow but it might be about to get hella fluffy... we'll see ;)


	9. Flashbacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short flashback for y'all, sorry for another short chapter! Abuse/transphobia TW
> 
> Peter's P.O.V.

"So, uh, Aunt may?" 

The woman at the sink turned to face him. She pulled a soapy gloved hand out of the sink and prodded some glasses a little way up her nose.

"Yes honey?" She responded.

He hesitated, his palms a little sweaty.

The voice in his head prodded him along a little. 'I was thinking I'm nearly 18 now and would I be able to get top surgery maybe some time later.' It was a pretty simple question. No lock in contracts, no rules, but still a pretty big deal. Like, it was surgery. All surgeries were big deals, as far as he was concerned. He took a deep breath.

"Well I was thinking, I'm nearly 18." He paused, gripping a little onto a chair in front of him. His flung his right leg around a little behind his left, like he normally did when he got nervous.

Aunt May peered at him. 

"That you are. Oh Gosh, you grew up so fast."

"Yeah," He said. "And I was thinking, just wondering, you know, If- If I might be able to- just wondering if it's a possibility- I-" He had to just get it over and done with. Bite the bullet. May was so nice, surely she wouldn't do anything bad to him. She wasn't his parents.

"Do you think it'd be a possibility for me to get top- top surgery. Maybe? You don't have to say yes- I just wanted to ask in case."

The plate his aunt was drying fell to the ground and shattered, tiny shards flying around the kitchen.

"What did you just say?"

"I asked if-"

"I HEARD WHAT YOU ASKED."

He froze. He couldn't recall the last time she'd yelled at him. She'd raise her voice about the odd trivial think, like an unmade bed or getting home late, but never this. His grip around the chair tightened.

"I'm sorry" he uttered, backing away. "I shouldn't have asked."

"NO FUCKING SHIT YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE ASKED. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THAT FUCKING SURGERY COSTS? YOUR PARENTS GAVE BIRTH TO A PERFECTLY BEATIFUL GIRL. I'VE LET YOU CHANGE YOURSELF FOR THE WORST. I'VE HUMOURED YOUR DAMN PHASE." 

She grabbed his testosterone from where it lived up on the kitchen shelf and slammed it down onto the table. Peter winced as it nearly shattered. He'd never heard her swear. Never heard her misgender him. He was shell-shocked, frozen in fear and glued to his chair.

"DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I PAID FOR THESE FUCKING CHEMICALS? AND YOU CAN'T JUST BE GRATeFUL? YOUR PARENTS LOVED YOU. THEY DID EVERYTHING IN THEIR POWER. I PITY THEM, STILL RAISING SUCH A FREAK. I TRIED TO LOVE YOU TOO. SO HARD, MATILDA".

May marched up to him, her clammy hands cupping his face.

"And yet…" she whispered, a tear escaping her and climbing its way down her cheek.

"I was wrong. You can't be fixed."

She pulled her hand back from him as if his skin had burnt him. In a trance, he watched her enter his room, tossing science t-shirts, binders, boxers and spare pants into a duffel. She heaved it off his floor and dumped it at the door, chucking in his testosterone on her way past the table.

"Get out." She chocked, pointing a shaking arm at the door. "Get out and never come back."

The world had been frozen over, his thoughts torn, twisted and tangled beyond coherency. His heart had shattered what felt like years ago, alongside the plate May had broken. It was crazy how a life could flip completely in 10 minutes. One second he was safe and warm, with the aunt he loved, asking an innocent question. The next he was lost. He didn't know who 'Peter Parker' was anymore. 'Peter'. The name his aunt had helped him chose. What would become of him? The only thing he had left was spider-man. 

And so he turned off 'Peter' completely. He wasn't a person anymore. He was spider-man. A mask. A suit. A shell.

A voice cut its way into his world, tearing him back to the present.

"Kid-"

And then a sob.


	10. Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be a while till the next update, im pretty busy with school and im finding it hard to get time to write and find the motivation i actually need to write well, sorry.
> 
> Tony's P.O.V.

"Kid? Kid? Kid are you okay? Peter?"

His heart was racing. His voice kept breaking, he could barely hide the fear as he shook the boy by the shoulder's desperately trying to bring him back to reality as he thrashed around the bed. Leaning over him, he begged him silently to please be okay. He hated how much he cared.

"Kid-" He choked, grabbing his small hand, then letting it slip from his grasp. "Kid-"

Tony collapsed back onto his knees, trying to mask a sob. 

His head fell into his hands. He'd already failed.

Fingers scraped along his arm, drenched in sweat and shacking. They tightened a little, then fell away.

As the grip loosened, he heard a deep breath.

"Mr Stark-" the kid started.

"Peter" He whispered, lifting his eyes up to face the child. "Oh thank God, kid. You had me scared."

As his eyes fell upon him he froze. His eyes were bloodshed and red, his face soaked in tears and drenched in agony. His throat jolted with sobs. Tony felt a piece of his heart break away from him. Hesitantly, he reached his hand toward Peter's, wrapping his fingers around the boy's.

He wasn't used to this. Children. Being supportive. Showing emotion. His father had never been very great at it. He had nothing to base parenting off. He'd sworn never to have kids of his own a million times, too scared to do to Peter- or any child of him- what Howard Stark had done to him.

And this kid? This kid had had everything, or so it had seemed. He needed a dad who could love him. Who could hug him. Who could hold his hand without a panic attack.

The hand tightened a little around his own.

"Mr Stark.-" Peter tried again. "Is it gonna be okay?"

Still kneeling, Tony rested his head against the bed, exhausted from worrying and crying.

"Yeah, kid." He whispered. "I've got you. It's gonna be okay."

He exhaled shakily.

"Breathe, Peter. Breathe."

"But Mr Stark-"

"It's okay kid. Breathe now. Talk later."

"Top surgery- top surgery would be a dream."

The hand around Tony's loosened a little. He could still hear the kid breathing, slowing somewhat as he fell asleep. Tony stayed where he'd sat on the ground till he was certain he was completely asleep. Slipping his hand free, he stood, keen to get a minute to himself to process whatever had just happened. But as he gazed back at the boy resting in the bed, red-faced with tracks of tears making their ways down his face, he paused. Lowering himself back down into the chair near the bedside, he closed his eyes, and rested them against the back till sleep seized him. It was only midday, but he hadn't slept a full night in weeks.

His dreams were threaded with spider, broken ribs and children having panic attacks. Every time he got close enough to try to help them, they slipped away into darkness. 

He couldn't believe he was already failing. 

Peter needed someone for him, and soon. Then more than ever, he needed someone who cared about him, Someone he could trust and confide in and someone to love. Someone to hug. He needed what Tony had needed when he was growing up.

And all of a sudden he had the chance to give it. To make Peter's life different to his own by being there for him.

If he wasn't a Howard, he would have told the boy he loved him. Told him he was there for him and that he cared. Maybe he would have hugged him. Who knows? 

He would have done what he wanted to do. But Howard would always be a part of him.

His voice would always swirl round his head when he complained. His fingers would always climb under his skin, pushing him away from physical contact. His eyes would gaze into Tony's when he closed his own. He was his work ethic. He was his drive. It was Howard who told him not to give up when everything failed. It wasn't helpful or inspiring, but it got the job done.

When he stopped selling weapons, he made a promise to himself: He wasn't going to be his father anymore. But the man had grown within him. Try as he might, Tony would never be able to extract that piece of him that was implanted into his mind. 

He'd succeeded in creating his own person. But that guy was always going to have to share his body with the ghost of Howard Stark. And as long as that ghost remained, he couldn't care for Peter the way the boy deserved. He was too young to be fighting his own battles. Fighting the world was one thing. Fighting your emotions? That was another. Tony knew that far too well for his own liking. And the Spider-boy was only 15. He needed support. And not counsellor support. He needed family.

He knew he couldn't be a dad. Never. It broke Pepper's heart, but he was so ruined. Too much so. But maybe, just maybe, he could be a little like the socially awkward distant uncle. Just for a few weeks till he found someone to look after the kid. 

It couldn't be too hard; It wasn't like raising a toddler. Peter was a teenager, only three years away from being an adult. An emotionally shattered teenager in a war against himself, yes. But still a teenager. 

It was the least he could do. 

o O o

Tony woke many hours later, to a room soaked in golden light. Groaning a little, he lifted up his wrist and squinted at the time. It was getting late, nearly dinner time.

His first instinct was to check on Peter. The kid was still sleeping, now calmly. The red had cleared from his face and the tears were dry. He looked so peaceful. Nobody else would know that 6 hours he'd been thrashing helplessly around in his bed while a clueless Tony just watched him suffer. He ruffled the boy's hair a little. It was getting longer than he knew Peter liked it. He made a mental note to get someone to give it a bit of a trim. 

He hesitated. If it was a movie or a book, he'd probably kiss the kid on the forehead. Was that a thing that people did? He wasn't sure. It certainly wasn’t a thing that social awkward distant uncles did. That was creepy. 

He shook his head to himself. No. He was effectively his mentor. Peter was his intern. Not his nephew. He barely even knew the child sleeping before him. He wasn't ready. He didn't know what to do. He just had to leave.

Yet again, he allowed himself one more glance at the poor boy before he left. If he woke up in time, Tony thought he could consider asking if the kid was keen on eating dinner with the rest of the Avengers. But he needed sleep. The excitement of meeting everyone again was a little too much for an already overwhelmed child in recovery from broken ribs and nearly dying.

And he could see it in Peter's eyes. He'd sort of known from the moment they'd examined him when he'd returned to the compound. The boy was sick in more ways than one. It was subtle: the catch of a breathe, a shiver, a little lie, sometimes a wince. He knew it all too well from his own childhood. He needed a little more support, some specialised help. Eating dinner with a bunch of people he barely knew, with all the hungry avengers, was surely not his cup of tea.

Besides, it was beginning to seem like anything could leave the boy spiralling into a panic attack or a flashback. Yet again, not something he himself was not familiar with. It was just unfair that it was something a teenage boy should have to endure. Millions of kids were going through the same one, but it didn't change a thing. Not one child out there deserved to be sick. They got their childhoods stolen from desperate, shaking hands forever. They had their souls twisted, never to be set straight exactly as they had been again. 

The door closed with a faint click.

Safely on the other side, he sunk to his knees, resting with his back to the navy blue door. He wished Peter could get up to see the door from the other side. It was covered in tiny little stars. In the centre was a somewhat messy drawing of a spider in blood red paint. It wasn't perfect, but Tony liked to hope he'd done his best. '

The kid deserved someone who cared, after all.


	11. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple of thoughts for you :) (set midway through the last chapter)
> 
> I normally have to get most of my writing done on the weekends, but this weekend has been really chaotic and stressful, so I didn't get as much done as I would have liked to. I've got some shit going on that's really freaking me out and overwhelming me big time so it might be a while between updates and they could be shorter till everything is okay and I'm confident everyone in my life is safe and healthy. I'm sorry, but I have to prioritise my family over this fic.
> 
> Peter's P.O.V.

The next thing Peter knew, his hand was empty.

The world was eerily quiet, after the pounding of blood in his ears the night previously. The universe felt wrong, lonely, abandoned. Without the screaming, silence was too shocking to welcome. Deep down, he felt himself longing for something to occupy his thoughts before memories started inching their ways back into his head. He'd been longing all his life for a chance to be there at the Avengers compound. Maybe a chance to meet everyone for real.

And now he had it, and what was he doing? Panicking. Moping. Complaining. Staying in bed when he knew he could cope with pain a million times worse than the numb aching in his chest.

Because after he left, there was nothing left for him. Without May or Tony, he had nothing.

His life, his world, his own little universe, ended with his departure.

What was the best case scenario? A safe house? A foster home? Maybe adoption? 

Whatever happened, he'd always be an avenger. There was nothing anyone could do to take that away from him. But that was a fortune that only awaited spider-man. He'd never felt like Peter Parker was the same as the guy in the suit. And Peter Parker really had lost everything.

When he'd been found on the street, he had a chance to cling onto the only thing he had left by a tendril of thread. He'd slowly hauled his way back to a new life. He'd rebuilt a family. A small one, just the two of them, but a family none the less. He'd transitioned, he'd grown, he'd built a new life, crawling out of the depths of hell. All from that tendril. 

And all of a sudden, he'd lost it all again. And this time, the thread had snapped. All he had was the wisps of the string, fraying at the end where it had snapped.

He had to learn to let go. Yet somehow, he couldn't stand to do it just yet. 

He wasn't sure why. There was nothing left for him to hold onto.

But there was, wasn't there? Because, just for the meantime, he had Tony.

Not really. It wasn't as if the guy loved him or wanted Peter. He was Iron man, for god's sake. When he spoke to Peter, he was just talking to Spider-man without the suit. But his presence in his life as Peter was painfully undeniable. There were times when Peter and Spider-man seemed to merge. It was weird, like being torn between universes, switching bodies then getting trapped in both at once. And in those moments, Stark would come creeping into his mind with a snide sarcastic comment and an uncalled-for piece of judgement. And then he'd smile and laugh, and suddenly he was split between four worlds, not two. Two where Mr Stark was the terrifying, unpredictable narcissistic asshole he acted like, and two where he was… someone different entirely. 

Nice Mr Stark. The guy who cared. The man who picked him up off the rooftop and held his hand till he passed out after a nightmare. The guy who appeared for a few moments, then shied away. He was yet to understand how to coax this version out of the default. There were times when he didn't seem to exist at all. But through thick and thin, there was no denying the way there were always traces of a little bit of heart hidden in the guy.

The guy who held his hand while he fell asleep. 

And then, when he woke, left his fingers cold and empty.

It was stupid of him, assuming Mr Stark had time to sit by him for hours while he slept. He was a billionaire. A superhero. An Avenger. Mr Stark had to be the pinnacle of busy. But as much as it felt foolish and the voices in his head screamed in his ears for his insensitivity, he couldn't pretend the absence didn't send spikes into his heart. His father had done that for years: held his hand, promised to be there till the end, whispered that everything was going to be okay, the whole deal. And come morning, he'd just be the stupid kid who couldn't learn to doubt the same lie, despite the millions of times it was whispered into his little ear

The boy sighed silently and flipped over to his other side. His senses pricked up, and he turned his head back, squinting his eyes open just enough to spot a figure slumped over into the chair beside his bed.

A smile twinged on his face as he twisted back, sleepily.

So maybe he'd been a little wrong.

Maybe Mr Stark did care for him, just a tad. There was no mistaking the silhouette, even through blurred, half closed eyes. He really had stayed there for him. 

It was with a grin stretched lazily across from cheek to cheek that Peter drifted back into the dark emptiness of rest. Sometimes the tendril was worth holding onto, after all. Because that wisp of string you keep pressed into your palm is like the one man you keep in your life. Maybe not the person you love most. But someone who cares.

And there's really nothing more calming than knowing that someone actually cares about you when you've almost given up.

Yet again, he found himself accepting sleep with open arms, knowing it wasn't nightmares that awaited him. He trusted in the sweet oblivion and the fleeting seconds of a dreamless nap, because so long and Mr Stark was there, he felt safe. The man's presence provided a little safety, a barrier between him and the horrors of his past. Monsters lurked in the dark. But Iron man ate monsters for breakfast. 

He drifted off with the smile playing on his lips. 

Every action has an equal, opposite reaction.

He'd been kicked out of home, for real. He'd lost the last of his family, for the second time in a row. Death had held him in its arms and nearly taken his life in as many was as it could possibly think of. He'd been lost where no one could find him. Where he couldn't find himself. He'd been abandoned for real by the people who had one cared, forgotten by everyone as he slowly edged away from the universe into whatever lay beyond life. He'd nearly starved and nearly punctured a lung.

And yet, he'd also been found. He'd been dragged up off that rooftop and flown back to the compound. Been treated, cured and fed. He'd clawed his way back from the depths of despair. And now he was recovering, piecing himself back together. Mr Stark had come to his rescue at the very last minute. Just like they had back when his parents deposited him on the street that cold night, things got better after they got worse. Just like then someone had come to his rescue. He'd lost one family, and hence he'd found another.

It felt stupid to consider Mr Stark family. The man would never think over Peter that way, and he knew it. But he couldn't help but consider the man almost like a father. A mentor, someone he could trust, someone who he knew cared for him. Or at least, sometimes he felt cared for. Other days, he just felt like a burden. Another weight on his shoulders.

But maybe that was how family worked. It was a responsibility. And if someone wasn't ready to face that, they weren't ready to raise one. 

It didn't make Mr Stark any more of a father to Peter, but it was at least a nice concept. Thinking that Mr Stark could ever view him almost like a son, not just a kid he had to deal with, was beautiful. Wishful thinking, yes. '

But that’s what wishes are for. Humans have dreams for a reason. To make them smile. To make the universe brighter. To serve as a glimmer of hope.

Hope.

What a beautiful word.

What a beautiful thing.

Hope.


	12. Growing up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whats this?? Two updates in 24 hours when I said there might not be a few for a while?? Yep :)
> 
> However, this might be the last update for a week or two (worst case senario). I promise I haven't abandoned this work, It's just things seem to have gotten worse and i've just got a fair bit on my plate. This is the last chapter I have written, and i'm sorry it's so short. 
> 
> A new point of view, too!! 
> 
> Rhodey's P.O.V.

"Tony, you have to think about this."

Tony's eyes drilled into Rhodey's head, as if he wanted to twist his head into thinking this was an actually good idea.

Tony was in one of his moods where he'd made up his mind on something incredibly lunatic, and nothing was going to change that. And yet he felt inclined to share his foolish decision to everyone he came across, without giving them an inch of a chance to combat. He was grinning a little, and rested his hands folded together on the desk. 

"Yes. You're right. Which is why I have done some thinking. And I've come to the conclusion that I shouldn't need to stop and think about it, because I've already made my decision. And considering the fact that I made it, you can rest assured that it was the right one."

Rhodey raised his eyebrows a little. 'Tony Stark' and 'good decision' were very rarely found in the same sentence. In the odd chance they were, there was often a 'not' included somewhere in the middle. You had to give it to the guy that many of his bad decisions ended up paying off beautifully, though rarely without someone getting hurt or something getting either obliterated, smited, or sometimes spontaneously combusted. 

"I think that the only thing we can assume from it being your decision is that it is certainly a very bad one."

"Ahh," Tony responded, waggling a finger at his friend. The finger waggle was also very common to the whole 'I have a terrible idea and I love it' sort of mood. He reclined back into his chair perfectly aware that that was his sign to give uo completely and just accept his defeat.

"Now you see, it is bad. It's a terrible idea. I wouldn't have even thought about it just a short few years ago. But that does not make it wrong." He paused pointedly, then resumed briskly, sounding incredibly composed for someone who had possibly just gone insane. "Perhaps the fact that it is worse for us, makes it better for them. Every action has it's equal, opposite reaction, after all."

"I don't think that’s how-"

"Now listen to me. This is what I want to do. So it's going to happen, like it or not." 

He raised himself out of the chair and spun out of the room, strutting to the door with about as much sass as that youtuber 'James Charles', who had been circulating a few of the Avengers' conversations. He'd even come across Fury having a heated discussion with Nat about whether or not some 'Tati' chick deserved to be gaining subscribers. As far as Rhodey was concerned, 'Tati' sounded like some nice type of curry paste, not a youtuber, but if it kept the avengers occupied then who was he to complain about the focus around weird drama. He'd rather they rambled on about boring gossip that he would once have assumed super heroes to be above than fight each other for fun and a little 'mental stimulation'.

"Case closed."

The door swung shut behind him, leaving a hopeless Rhodey abandoned at the desk in an office that wasn't even his. Nestling his head in his palms, the man shook it from side to side, letting out a deep sigh. Groaning, he contemplated the random announcement Tony had just made earlier that evening, wondering what sparked such an outburst. 

What on earth could have possibly have happened to inspire Tony Stark to donate 3 million dollars to an assortment of charities relating to wellbeing, teenage mental health and support for transgender teens. Sure, he was so many million times richer than that, but money was money, and his friend had never been one to go throwing it around at random charities. 

Still, deep down he had to admit it made a tiny piece of him well up with pride. 

It was like watching your child grow up.


	13. He cares, kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!! I'm so sorry for vanishing for a short while, and that this update is pretty short. Some shit happened and I kinda freaked out, but everything is fine now, so hopefully, I can get back to more frequent updates. I have got exams and some other writing I'll be doing as well, but I haven't and won't abandon this work.
> 
> TW for eating disorders this chapter.
> 
> Peter's P.O.V.

"Hey, kid. Hungry?"

Peter's eyes wrenched open. He hadn't heard the man come in, which was unusual. Normally his spider senses would grasp any small reason to prick up and alert him that a minor thing had made a tiny sound just a short five miles away. But he couldn't deny that he wasn't exactly in the best of shape. He wasn't really the best in any way, shape or form. He was starving, though he'd never dare to mention it. All he'd eaten in what felt like forever was that one bowl of cereal.

Wincing, he turned his head and fixed his eyes on Mr Stark till he spun into focus. He still wasn't used to this: Mr Stark acting like he cared. Coming into his room to check on him. Telling him to eat, drink and look after himself.

To be honest, he wasn't used to anyone doing that.

It sounded sad, but despite how much he'd always loved his aunt, it was always a fact that to her, he was a second priority by default. He had to be. She had to work, get the money to feed him, afford his schooling, clothes and transition. She did it all for him, and he'd appreciated that. But she was never really there. She never fell asleep by his side, his hand in hers. When he was sick, she'd check up on him, but if he wasn't hungry that was his problem.

She was there if he asked for help. But she wasn't like Mr Stark. He offered it without him asking.

"I- uh"

He was. He'd lied to himself enough times. Despite the battle in his mind, he needed food. 

"-Yeah. Breakfast would be great."

The man chuckled to himself.

"Kid," he laughed, "It's 7 pm. Dinner time."

Peter sat up with a jolt.

"7 pm!" he exclaimed, eyes wide. "Man! My sleep schedule is screwed!"

Another laugh. He didn't understand this guy at all. One second he was all seriousness and objectivity, and the next he was chuckling at everything he said, as if he was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. Laughing like a guy who cared.

"That's okay kid, I'll help you through it. I'm more than used to that. I was just thinking- how are you?"

How was he? What sort of question was that? What could he say?

He was shocked?

Bad idea. Stark had done so much for his. And all he gave back was shell-shocked lack of gratitude? Despite everything, he dismissed the thought. He couldn't to that to the man. Whether he cared or not, he deserved something a little more insightful.

He was tired?

True, but stupid. All he'd done in a week was sleep, literally. Sleeping on roofs, sleeping on operating tables, sleeping in beds, everything. If you could get a prize for talented excessive sleeping, he'd win it. And yet, despite his rest, and an itching to get out and do something, he couldn't drag his ass out of that darn bed. 

His ribs hurt? 

It didn't require a genius to figure that one out. And Tony Stark was a genius. If you break a rib, it's gonna hurt. To useless, a good way to sound like a total buffoon.

He was hungry? 

He hadn't claimed to be hungry in a year. It felt like a weird time to start. It was like 12 months flashed before his eyes. Tears were shed. He was shaking on the shower floor, eyes glued shut as he rested his head back against the bitter cold tiles, as the walls crept in. It was too hard to handle existing on nights like them. His battle was one he couldn't fight. In hindsight, he wished he'd fought a little harder. It only got worse, the enemy stronger as he weakened. So strong he'd given up. He'd laid down his weapons and given in to hell. But perhaps, it was worth another shot. He wasn't the same kid as he was back then.

Lonely?

He couldn't do that. It wasn't Mr Starks job to be his little friend. His next adoptive parent. It wasn't his job to fulfil Peter's touch-starved desires. Of all things, he knew that was the one thing he couldn't say. He couldn't do that to the guy who'd saved his life. He couldn't try to guilt him into spending more time with him. 

He inhaled shakily, steadying himself to say something, anything. Even a typical 'I'm fine' to tell Mr Stark that he was, in fact, so very not fine it wasn't funny

"I just want someone who cares when nobody seems to."

The words left his mouth without approval. He barely even noticed he's uttered them for a moment, before he paused.

It was one of those moments when you ask yourself why on earth there was no ctrl-Z in life. 

A backspace.

Rewind.

But no matter how many times he tried to swallow them back, there was no biting back the words he'd already let free.

"I uh- sorry I mean- I didn't mean that!" he raced, knowing that if he couldn't undo what he'd done he'd try his darn best to rectify it, but a strong finger sealed his lip.

"I care, kid." Tony echoed, a tiny quiver in his voice.

"I care."


	14. "This is nice"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter as an apology for not uploading in a while.
> 
> Tony's P.O.V.

'I care'.

What the fuck was he thinking?

'I care'

The kid's whole life had just fallen apart.

And yet despite how much he meant to him, all he could say was 'I care'.

How come he couldn't just explain? Say quite how much he really cared.

How when his universe had slowed to nearly a halt and his life was just repeating the same day over and over, this kid showed up and spun him back into orbit. How the kid was giving him a purpose. This boy, he barely knew, was suddenly meaning something to him, Tony Stark. How come all it took was a little boy to remind him that despite everything, there was always something… beautiful about children. Naiveite? Honesty? Innocence?

The spiderling wasn't his to deal with, and never would be. But seeing him like that… so broken… hurt beyond help… it tore him to pieces. 

He felt weak for it. He hated that. 

All his life, emotion had been frowned upon. He wasn't allowed to feel: he was above such trivial things and weaknesses. Flaws in a near-perfect scientist were a waste of scientists. That was the whole point of science; he had to be objective. 

End yet with this kid the feelings seeped through his skin, despite the years he'd spent trying to thicken it. He'd been hurt, and the scars grew skin tougher that it had been. All of a sudden love was inching its way out of him at an opportunity to be felt again, and despite the murmurs in his mind that begged him to repress it, he couldn't ignore the fact that like it or not, the boy was starting to matter to him. 

He acted like it was easy; he pretended forming connections was a piece of cake for him. 

Was it ever?

The kid didn't just mean something to him. He was a lifeline, just like Harley had been, before… things happened. 

It's one thing to feel sad, but another entirely not to trust yourself with any feelings at all. Sometimes it was harder to live with the emptiness than the misery. So maybe that was why he seemed to like the boy: he latched on to things that filled the emptiness till the voice in his head got too strong and he let go, returning to the void of loneliness.

But it wasn't.

A part of him just felt as if Peter was his responsibility.

He knew how it felt. He understood all the neglect. He remembered too well the feeling that you really had no one but yourself. For Peter, a kid who seemed to feel lost in himself, there was nobody. 

Maybe he loved the kid because he saw himself in the boy. Maybe he just wanted him to get that somebody. He wasn't sure. But what he did know for sure, was that he cared.

"God kid," he stuttered, a little unsure on his feet. "I care so much, you have no idea. I don't know when you got it into your head that I didn't but I swear kid, you have no clue-" 

He swallowed his words, not ready to say them. His breath quivered as he hesitantly attempted a shaky inhale. 

"-No clue quite how much you mean to me. I know I'm not exactly… the kind of person you need right now but… I'm here. I can't offer you anything close to what you deserve but… I'm here."

Pausing, Tony tried his hardest to ignore the tear edging its way down his cheeks and the lump swelling up in his throat. He tried his hardest to ignore the way the silence hung in the air> What was he but a defendant now, awaiting the jury's verdict. He'd let down his walls. Admitted that he too suffered with the curse of emotion. So what came next? What awaited him now? Why wasn't Peter talking to him? How hard was it to say something?

Where to from there?

"We can rebuild something, kid. I'm not your aunt. I'm not your parents. But you can rebuild them. The future's your kid. And I care how it pans out."

Heart thumping out of his chest, he winced his eyes open. He'd barely noticed closing them. They were damp, but he bore the pain and shame as he lifted his eyes from the ground up to Peter.

"I-" Peter stuttered, before breaking off back into silence.

The kid was just gazing at him unseeingly. He was sitting propped up against his pillows, rod straight from when he'd jumped up at the time. Such a different kid to the one he was seeing then. The old kid was a little broken, but still a teenager. He was fighting battles, but valiantly. This boy had played his last kid. He had nothing left.

Peter was shuffled up onto the left side of the bed, near the wall. There was enough space on the right for someone else to partially perch without falling out. Pete just looked so ruined. He wished he could say he didn't think twice. He thought a million things. And then, against his better judgement, he took one step forward. Then another. With every step, he got closer to the bed. To the boy.

Awkwardly, he reached the bed, and perched himself on the corner, draping a light arm across his drooping shoulders. As the touched, the kid tensed up, then relaxed, leaning his head against Tony's shoulder, leaving a tiny damp puddle on the man's shirt. Shuffling closer, he leant back against the pillows, hugging the kid close.

It felt- weird.

Nice, yeah, but intimidating. 

How couldn't it? Touching was terrifying. So intimate. Feeling your skin against another person's. It was bizarre how uncomfortable he found it. What was it, other than cells touching other cells? He was literally maybe of cells touching one another. Why was this any different?

But it was also comforting. With the kid's hair ticking lightly against his chin as he quaked with sobs, he couldn't help but feel as if something was finally right. It wasn't meant to happen like it that. Peter wasn't supposed to be crying. Tony wasn't supposed to be so tense. But for some reason or another, with Peter under his arm, he felt something weird. Was it fulfilment? The peace bubbled up in his heart? Comfort, perhaps?

Slowly, he relaxed into it, adjusting to the new feeling. 

It wasn't too scary in the end.

He felt an arm burrow under his back and grasp his free arm, holding it tight.

Peter's sobs halted for a moment.

"This is nice," he muttered.

It was barely a whisper, but with the boy right beside him, Tony heard it perfectly.

A tiny smile stretched across the man's face.

He had to agree.

Maybe he'd needed the hug just as much as Peter had.


	15. Moments and marathons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of thinking of ending it here. I'll continue if people want just comment and I will. Minor TWs for abuse and maybe EDs but not really. This is pretty much just fluff.
> 
> Peter's P.O.V.

As the boy melted into the hug, he lost track of time.

He lost track of everything, really.

He forgot the numb throbbing in his chest. He forgot the broken ribs and everything else. He forgot where he was and why. He forgot the hurt and the fear and the moments when life didn't seem like living. He forgot his past.

He forgot the quaking boy he'd been on the rooftop, all alone as he'd slowly died. He forgot the way he'd gasped for air desperately, yet each breath had been harder than the previous as he'd drowned in suffocation. He forgot the darkness as he'd fallen… descended into nothingness. He forgot how his spider senses had switched off and so had his brain as his body had powered down, too exhausted, damaged and gone

He forgot Aunt May's old soothing voice that had sung to him as he fell asleep when he was younger and he forgot the way it had quivered as she raised it that night. He forgot the screeching of her voice and the words she'd yelled at him. He let the memories of the names she'd called him slip away. The slurs, his deadname, everything. They dissolved into the evening air in the embrace.

He forgot the sound of the plate shattering at by his head when his mother had thrown it, and the fear in his heart as she'd prepared herself to toss however many it required to end him forever. He forgot her distorted face, ruined by her pure fury at him for trying so hard to be himself. He forgot those cool scissors in his hand, the puddle of hair falling to the floor and the moment the door had opened. He forgot the child on the footpath with nothing at all and nowhere to go. He forgot about his parents and about his history and everything they'd done to him. 

He forgot the nightmares. The countless times he'd woken up in cold sweats with no hands to hold from the daunting universes of beasts he couldn't quite see and from the universes he knew too well because though he'd tried to ignore them a million times, they were his own. The flashbacks had no power over him as he held Mr Stark closer to him. 

He forgot the fear in his heart when Mr Stark had suggested he eat dinner. He forgot the dread and the murmurs that had stirred in his mind at the thought of having food again.

He forgot his sickness.

His life.

His pain.

But there was one thing he never let go of, as his life flowed from him in streams and floods to a place where it could haunt him no more.

The arms squeezing him tight, as if they never wanted to let go. 

The hand firmly holding his shoulder, stiff yet supportive.

He didn’t know how long they sat there, in each other's arms. Perhaps it was only seconds, maybe minutes, even hours could have passed. Time seemed to work differently when nothing was worrying him. For once, he wasn't caring to focus on it. He wasn't fretting that there wasn't enough time, or that it was dragging on forever. �  
For once, he couldn't care less. Because he had all the time in the world, and still didn't want to lose a moment of it. 

It wasn't like the world had stopped spinning. It never would. That was life. You got up, and you kept running, trying frantically to keep up enough pace to match the speed at which it spun.

But he'd done it. He'd caught up. He'd crossed the finish line. It wasn't his job to sprint forever to match the rate the earth spun. He could finally take a break. Have a drink of water and a bit of a snack, because he'd done it. He'd finished the marathon. Maybe there was another one to go, or maybe a hundred. Maybe he'd keep running marathons till they stole his life.

No matter what, though, he'd finished one.

He was allowed to stop.

He was allowed to breathe.

He was allowed to be himself.

To think about himself.

To love himself.

To stop.

To catch his breath.

To have a break.

***

After however long, the silence was broken. Snapped by the impatient grumbling of Peter's stomach.

He shuffled his head a little, gazing up at where Mr Stark was resting against the pillows, eyes closed yet directed at the boy. The tension seemed to have drained from his face, leaving a tiny smile stretched across his lips.

An eye inched open at the movement.

"You alright, kid?" He grunted softly.

Peter smirked a tad, content yet bursting with energy.

"Where's that dinner you mentioned, Mr Stark?" 

"It's Tony."

"Mr Stark."

"Tony"

"Mr Stark."

"No dinner until you call me Tony."

"Mr Stark."

"Kid, it's Tony."

The man's voice was playful, yet tinged with a hint of impatience an exasperation.

"Whatever, Mr Stark. C'mon, Tony. Let's go eat."

"Ton- Oh!"

The obvious shock forced a tiny laugh out of Peter. There was something so natural about playing around with the guy, as terrifying as he was. He hazarded a cheeky grin at him, hoping for the best.

Tony shuffled and beamed down at him; Peter could tell that for once, the expression on his face wasn't fake at all. A real, relaxed grin. He hadn't though Mr Stark- Tony was capable of that. He watched the older man swing himself to his feet and turned back, offering a hand in case he needed it. After being in bed for so long, get up wasn't going to be easy.

Smiling in return, he took it.

It was going to be hard. It always would. But suddenly the impossible seemed a whole lot easier.

He could rebuild it. The perfection, the memories, the laughter and the beautiful sense of family.

And although it sounded crazy, and probably was, if he was allowed to choose who he wanted in that family, he'd made his decision, hands down. Maybe Tony cared about him, maybe he didn't.

But Peter cared about Tony.

Nothing could change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I do leave it here i'd just like to say thanks for reading. Kudos and comments are sweet if you want.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment like p l e a s e leave comments even if you leave hate p l e a s e comment.
> 
> Thanks for reading


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